Famous and Forgotten
by SassMasterStark
Summary: "He who walked among the stars and held discourse with the moon, who stood against gods and kings and empires, had been undone by one small significance at the edge of eternity. One small significance who whispered his name like the echo of a lost dream, who condemned him not to perdition but to the salvation of her affection." SolasxLavellan. Spoilers. Rating subject to change.
1. Chapter 1

Note: First order of business, major spoiler warning. Second, while I don't necessarily feel this way about the canon, for fic purposes, I've interpreted Solas as the physical embodiment of Fen'harel, like a god who deigns to walk among men (not unlike Christ), so he lacks the powers and omniscience of a god, and acts more or less like a human, or elf, with the memories and motivations of his god self. Feel free to comment about the fic or if you want to speculate with me on the canon, be my guest. As you can see, this ship is going to be the death of me. Enjoy!

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Solas strode softly over freshly fallen leaves, a crisp wind rustling those that clung to branches in denial of the coming autumn. The star-spangled firmament rose above the canopy, distant yet clear, free from the green tinge that had marred its vision for so long. The rift was gone. Corypheus was gone.

He was gone.

Even as the world faltered, trembled, the Veil restored, the battle won, he had disappeared, vanished like a whisper of farewell stolen by the wind. She had turned, the exaltation of victory aglow about her face, a quick flash of the smile that had claimed her as his. But the smile had wavered, sustained only by his visage, now absent.

"Ma sa'lath?" she had whispered, words carried to him as echoes across the Fade.

"Ma vhenan," was his answer, lost to distance. Now he walked alone, bereft from her touch, nothing but the wind to remind him of her cool lips against his skin, the leaves to mimic the soft cadence of her whispers, the night sky like the dark tresses of her hair, the stars like her eyes, lost, questioning….

Cole's undulating voice filtered through his thoughts. _She is bare faced, embarrassed, and she doesn't know. She thinks it is because of her…_

Solas shook his head, dispelling painful thoughts as one dispels the vestiges of a nightmare, vainly attempting to purge the poison that is memory from his mind.

"It is better this way," he spoke into the night, alone but for the footsteps he left behind, the footsteps of a forgotten god, faded and forlorn, wretched and reviled.

_He Who Hunts Alone. _Solas laughed bitterly, defacing the silent sanctity of the night with his thinly veiled despair. He looked up at the night sky, eyes searching vainly for the moon. Even it would not grace him with its soft luminescence, to provide him a shadow to walk beside him.

"Ir abelas, in souver'inan isala hamin," he sighed to himself, glancing at the small clearing in which he stood with indifferent resignation. "I must dream."

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Translation: "I am filled with sorrow, but weary eyes need resting."


	2. Chapter 2

He moved with quiet somnolence, as if already mired in dream, a phantasmal echo of repeated, habitual movements. He placed the wards with practiced care, yet never had his ministrations felt so empty. He mourned her presence, the way she watched him cast spells, with a childish wonder tempered by her tender gaze as she watched his hands spin veilfire from thin air, its soft radiance bathing her face in effervescent light.

As he placed the last ward, he coaxed a wisp through the Veil, letting its presence breathe life into the magic of the wards. He paused a moment to survey his work, pausing a moment longer to watch the wisp flit about, inspecting its new surroundings like any simple spirit. It whisked hither and thither, with curious yet fleeting attentiveness as it bobbed from object to object, its investigations lasting seconds at best before it moved on.

Solas felt the smallest trace of a smile at his lips, watching the inquisitive joy of such a simple creature. He thought how easily a smile would come to Lavellan, how quickly she would hide it, how bashfully she would turn, eager to preserve the veneer of the Inquisitor, stoic and dignified, confident and decisive. He would reach out, turn her face back to him, to catch a glimpse of her fleeting expression. He would hold her eyes with his gaze, fingers brushing over the softness of her lips, waiting for her to break the moment with her witty tongue, only to stop her mid-sentence with his own…

"Fenedhis!" he cursed, startling the wisp from its contented investigation of a near fern. A pang of guilt passed through him for startling the creature, and he started to apologize, stopping himself as the wisp returned to its musings unfazed.

_The only guilt you should feel is for her, _a voice whispered to him internally._ You, who return to save the People from their own disgrace, have abandoned the only one who says your name without revulsion, the only one to look upon you without ignorance or disdain…_

Solas fell to his knees, the full weight of his despondence descendent upon his shoulders. He, who walked among the stars and held discourse with the moon, who stood against gods and kings and empires, had been undone by one small significance at the edge of eternity. One small significance who whispered his name like the echo of a lost dream, who walked with impunity amongst his thoughts, who condemned him not to perdition but to the salvation of her affection.

He closed his eyes, leaning against the tree behind him as if the comfort of nature had any chance of quelling his inner turmoil.

_Salvation was to be theirs, the People's. Not mine. Not the salvation of a false, fallen, and forgotten Fen'harel. Fiend, trickster, traitor, betrayer, the Roamer of the Beyond and Bringer of Nightmares. _

"Ma vhenan," he whispered, letting his head fall between his knees as if the very stars would begrudge his gaze.

"It was not supposed to happen this way," he had told her before he vanished. These words he murmured to himself again, letting sleep come upon him as the night closed in, slipping silently into the fade to escape the reality he had created.

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Angsty god Solas strikes again. Honestly, he and Lavellan are so Shakespearean it hurts.


End file.
